ome to him as his wife. But he might
have waited to try other plans first.

"Poor John Bain, Allison's father, you ken, had had much to bear what
with one trouble and another, for many a day, and the last one fell
heavier than them all. On the day when his son was condemned to an
imprisonment for eighteen months, he had a stroke and he never looked up
again, though he lingered a while, and Allison refused to leave him.
Brownrig is a man who cares little what may be his neighbours' opinion
with regard to him, but he could hardly venture to insist on his wife's
coming home while her father needed her, for there was no one else to
care for the poor old man.

"He came to the house while Mr Bain lived, but one told me who saw him
there often, that since the day of their marriage Allison has neither
given him good word nor bad, nor touched his hand, nor lifted her eyes
to his face. Doubtless the man must have his misgivings about her and
about what is to happen now. It is a sad story thus far, with no
possible good ending as far as can be seen."

"Ay! a most sad story. Poor Allie! There seems little hope for her,
whatever may happen. As to her brother, I should like to see him, and I
assuredly shall if it be possible. I should like to take him home with
me when I go, and give him another chance."

"Ah! that is a good word of yours, my son. It would be well done indeed
to help the poor lad who is not bad at heart. I never will believe
that. But I fear he will do no good here, even if he can keep the land,
which is doubtful now, for things have gone ill with them this while,
and Brownrig, even for Allie's sake, would never forgive her brother."

"And it is as likely that her brother would never forgive him. Allison
may in time forgive her husband, and may end in loving him after all.
Time and change work wonders."

But the minister could not agree with his son.

"Another woman might forgive and love him, but never Allison Bain. She
can never honour him, unless he should greatly change, and then I doubt
it might be too late for love."

They were drawing near the house by this time, where many neighbours had
already gathered to do honour to the dead. They stood about in groups
of two or three, speaking to one another gravely about their old friend,
and the troubles which had fallen so heavily on him and on his of late.
And doubtless, also, of other matters, that had to do with themselves
and their own affai